


Wisdom, Power, Courage

by SkyLeaf



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyLeaf/pseuds/SkyLeaf
Summary: Zelda grew up believing that she, as the princess of Hyrule, could only hope to possess one of the three virtues that were so often praised in the fairy tales her mother had read to her.She was wrong.
Relationships: Hylia & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Urbosa & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Zelda & Zelda's Mother
Kudos: 20





	Wisdom, Power, Courage

**Author's Note:**

> A little fanfiction about Zelda realising that she can possess all three virtues at the same time and me spending hours essentially writing about how much I loved her in BotW :)

**Wisdom**

If Zelda was to pick her favourite place in the castle—no, if she was to pick her favourite spot in the entire world—she would not have to think twice before answering that the little chair next to her mother’s desk was where she loved to pull her legs up beneath her, curling up into a little ball and then simply relax. There was something almost undefinably magical about the way the sun would glitter, falling in through the tall windows and illuminating her mother, making even the little, tense smile that would sometimes make Zelda wonder what exactly the letter that had claimed her attention had said appear a little softer when she would glance back down at her, and, while Zelda would then have to hurry to pretend that she had never looked up, was still looking at the book she had finally been able to convince her mother to let her borrow, more often than not, her mother would place the letter back down on the desk, a soft thud echoing through the room as she made contact with the hard surface, before declaring that it was time for them to play ‘today, I have’.

It was a game her mother had invented, Zelda knew that much, having realised that it was not a tradition for everyone to climb up onto the settee that had been pushed into the corner of the study to tell each other about what had happened during the day when she had tried to explain it to her governess, asking if she wanted to play it, only for the governess to send her a confused look, slowly telling her how she was not sure she knew the rules to such a game, but that, if Zelda wanted to, they could play hide-and-seek for a while, they just had to make sure that the king would not catch them.

Even the memory of how she had seemingly believed that standing behind a curtain and waiting for someone to find her could ever be the same as her mother pulling her closer towards her, ruffling her hair as she laughed along to Zelda’s stories of how she had found a secret passage in the corner of the courtyard that would take her into the Lost Woods, meeting the people from the fairy tales her mother would sometimes tell her when she was able to tuck her in at night, was enough to make Zelda giggle under her breath. Her mother was really the best. Though she did, of course, like the governess, loved it even when she would take her hand and offer to find a book for her to read in to take her mind off her worries when she would occasionally open the door to the study, only to find her mother lying on the settee, her eyes glassy and unfocused as she looked over at her to, with a hoarse voice, tell her that they would not be able to play the game today, she was simply not able to compete with her mother, not when her mother was able to invent such wonderful games as ‘today, I have’.

She must not have managed to remain as quiet as she had thought she did, for the next second, her mother glanced up from the bundle of letters that a servant had handed to her, interrupting their conversation just as Zelda had been about to tell her how she had thought she had heard someone whisper to her while standing on her balcony, the voice sounding like it had come from above, a little smile making the lines around her lips and between her brows appear softer as she leant over towards her. “Where you thinking about something, Zelda?” she asked, letting the letters fall to rest on top of the stack of reports, draft legislations, and older letters she had yet to compose an answer to.

“Yes.” Zelda nodded, and, although she knew that her mother had told her at least a hundred times already not to place her feet on the soft fabric of the chair when she was still wearing shoes, she pulled her knees up, almost letting them touch her chin. “”I was thinking about something.”

Her mother tilted her head. “And you want me to guess what it is, am I correct?”

When Zelda responded by nodding, her mother let go of the letters, instead sending her a studying look, the way her eyes never seemed to miss anything reminding Zelda, as it so often did, of the stories she had read in the books of fairy tales her mother had let her borrow the month before. As her mother followed her line of sight, glancing over towards the settee, the realisation making her face grow soft, Zelda could not help but think that she looked like what Zelda imagined the girl who had been able to tell the future in one of the stories to look like.

Finally, Zelda’s mother looked back at her, already moving to stand up from her chair, sending her a knowing smile as she gestured towards the corner of the room. “Let me guess, you were thinking about our game, were you not?”

“I was.”

“Well, then what would you say to this idea: I let the letters wait for a moment longer, and then we can play it for a moment?” already knowing what her answer would be, her mother continued over towards the couch, sitting down in one end of it, leaving more than enough space for Zelda to be able to jump up into it, letting the colourful fabric soften the impact as she leant against her mother’s shoulder, the enthusiasm earning her a low chuckle that was, however, soon interrupted by a coughing fit that not even the way her mother made sure to wrap an arm around her was able to hide. “It is fine,” her mother said, having seemingly noticed the way Zelda could not help but look up at her, the worry already detracting from the joy the prospect of playing the game had brought her, “I just stood up a bit too quickly, that is all.”

Although Zelda heard how her mother forced herself to supress the next cough, pouring all the conviction she could muster into her voice, she could not help but remember the hushed conversation between the healer and her mother she had heard the week before, how her mother had shook her head, while saying something about how she did not want to worry anyone, only for the healer to tell her that she was being naïve if she thought that she would not find out. Back then, as Zelda had found herself frozen in place, her hand stopping mere centimetres before she would have pushed the door leading into her mother’s study open, she had not known who ‘she’ was, but after she had asked her mother about it the next day, only for her mother to laugh, ruffle her hair, and tell her that it was nothing, just a little misunderstanding, Zelda had begun to suspect that they had been talking about her when discussing how there was something they did not want her to know about. After all, from what Zelda could observe, it appeared that, other than her mother, most people would not have to rest for a couple of hours each day, did not have to reach out for something after they had almost fell over after walking a few steps.

However, as she looked up to see her mother smile down at her, it was easy enough for Zelda to forget about how the wet sound that accompanied the cough had not sounded like it had been meant to be there, pushing the little knot of worry away to instead reply to the smile with one of her own. “Will you start then?” she asked.

“That depends.” her mother paused, and from the sound of it, Zelda was sure that the answer to the question of just why she had done that would be the same as the answer to the question of why she was no longer able to accompany Zelda when she wanted to show her the newest hiding place she had found in the gardens and why she was not able to chase her through the hallways of the castle the way she had done when Zelda had been younger. However, before the little edge of fear that would, without fail, return each time her mother coughed got the chance to ruin Zelda’s delight at how her mother had just chosen her rather than the letters, her mother cleared her throat and continued. “Do you want me to?”

The answer to that question was so obvious that Zelda could not help but giggle slightly at her mother’s oblivious question. “Yes!” she laughed.

Really, what kind of question was that? Of course she wanted to hear more about what kind of exciting adventures would fill her mother’s days. For if Zelda was the princess and could find hidden kingdoms in the depths of the bushes in the gardens, then her mother, as the queen, must spend her days finding even more fascinating things.

“Very well then,” her mother said, and, as she continued, Zelda slowly climbed up to sit in her lap, careful not to make a wrong move if that would somehow be able to cause another coughing fit. But her mother simply laughed and cocked her head as she looked down at her, “since you seem to be quite interested in the kingdoms outside of Hyrule, I think that I will start by telling you that today, I have received a letter from Lady Urbosa.”

Zelda could vaguely remember the name, the mention of it conjuring up a fuzzy memory from one of her birthdays, a picture of her mother having laughed at something the tall woman who must have been Urbosa had said, gesturing towards her as she told her how her daughter was named Zelda. But even then, Zelda found herself unable to picture just who the lady her mother had mentioned was, so, although she knew that it was technically against the rules of the game to interrupt the other before they had finished telling their story, she squirmed, letting her lower lip quiver slightly, just enough to know that she had secured an answer to the question she asked next. “Who?”

“Hush, I am not finished yet,” her mother reminded her, but there was no trace of annoyance to be found in her voice, and she did pull her closer, smiling at her, as she began to explain, “I think you might remember having met her, although I suppose I should have expected that you would not be able to recall her name with how young you were at the time. She visited the castle last summer—actually,” her mother said, almost interrupting herself as she looked down at her, the distant look in her eyes letting Zelda know how she had mentally travelled back to the moment, “I think that was the first time you met one another. Though I had of course written to her shortly after you had been born, with how the situation with the monsters in Oseira Plains suddenly became more serious than what we had expected at first, I don’t think she got the chance to actually visit you until your fourth birthday.”

As her mother nodded, the gesture seeming more directed at herself than at Zelda, Zelda found herself doing the same almost without thinking. Her fourth birthday, it made sense. While she might not be able to remember much, only that the chefs had somehow baked the largest fruitcake she had ever seen, leading to Zelda eating more than her stomach had been able to handle, her father sending her a disappointed glare as she had found herself with no other choice than to admit defeat and ask to be excused, as her mother realised the connection, Zelda could vaguely recall how she had left the dining hall, stepping out into the hallway to head back to her room, only to almost run directly into the stranger as she passed around the corner, the other woman seemingly recognising her and not realising that Zelda had no idea who she was when her mother had followed after her, finding the two of them out there, and how that memory had then continued over into that of the sheer awkwardness that had gripped her when her mother had introduced the stranger as a dear friend of hers.

Seemingly not realising that Zelda had not paid attention for a few seconds, her mother reached out to tuck one of the stubborn strands of hair that never seemed to do what those around her wanted it to do back behind her ear. “She… she is one of my oldest friends, but since the amount of monsters living along the road between Gerudo Town and Hyrule Castle Town has increased, her letters have grown rarer as well.” there was a twinkle of something in her mother’s eyes, Zelda realised, something that she could not quite understand, something that made it seem like the letter from Urbosa Zelda could still see lying on the desk was more important than anything else, as her mother continued. “I—I—a while ago, she offered for me to come stay with her in the palace, hoping that some time away from my duties might help me feel better, but I… it did not feel right to just leave everyone behind.” her mother looked down at her, and in that instant, the fraction of a second it took for Zelda to recognise the expression of someone who was trying their best to hide something written across her mother’s face, she knew that it was about more than just that. Still, she did not interrupt, instead letting her mother add. “Although I would of course not have left you here and although I believe that you would actually benefit from the change of scenery… with my duties towards Hyrule, it simply would not have been possible for me too…” the words were left to trail off as her mother stared out of the window, everything from the longing look in her eyes to the soft tone in her voice making it evident how the last sentences had been meant more for herself than for Zelda.

But while Zelda knew that, during the last minute, her mother might almost have forgot about how she was there, how she would not otherwise have told her about the offer, it did not keep her from trying to make the new knowledge connect with what she already knew. For fact was, that the more she tried to recall from the first time she had met Urbosa, the more the memories seemed to come back to her, letting her see how, even when she had talked to her, Urbosa’s gaze would always return to rest on her mother. And, in that moment, the way her father had practically been seething when he had stepped into the hallway, having halfway walked over to tell her to return to the table again, only to stop dead in his tracks as he noticed Urbosa, the little, forced smile he was able to send her not doing much to hide how it was merely a mask for another feeling entirely, suddenly began to make sense to her.

Turning towards her mother and leaning against her, her long hair tickling against her cheek, Zelda tried to make her voice smaller than it usually was, to give her mother the chance to deny what she already knew was the truth when she asked the question that felt like it had been etched into her mind the moment she saw the connection between Urbosa’s visits, the reason why they were so rare, why her father had ended up hissing at her to leave when he had seen Urbosa, and why the only time Zelda had ever dared to ask him about her mother’s friend had resulted in an answer that seemed so distanced that, had it not been for how she had seen Urbosa and her mother interact, Zelda would not have known that they knew each other. “Mum, father… he does not like Urbosa that much, does he?”

The question made her mother freeze, the slight second where she was not quite able to hide her automatic response already being more than enough for Zelda to guess the answer, even before her mother had glanced down at her, an unsure look in her eyes as she spoke. “I… sometimes, when people have to carry heavy burdens, they can say things that they do not actually mean. Your father, he once told Urbosa that due to… to our past, he would prefer if she would not visit us here anymore, and while I reminded him that we cannot do that, we cannot allow our personal opinions to create conflicts between us, I doubt he was ever truly able to forget about what he had said. So, no, although they are not exactly friends the same way you are friends with Purah, they also know that they cannot allow that to come between them.”

It felt like she should have been able to understand it, like it should have been simple enough for Zelda to nod and say that she could see how that was the case, but, although she would have loved to be able to do exactly that, to show her mother how all the hours she had spent with the tutors, learning about the art of conversation, had helped her improve, she was simply not able to make it all fit together, to comprehend how people could at once be friends and not be friends, like each other and not like each other.

In the end, Zelda found herself nodding along, hoping that she by trying to repeat what her mother had just said might make it all make a little more sense to her. “So,” she began, speaking slowly, “what you are saying is that… when they are alone, they are not friends, but since our kingdoms are so closely related, they have to put that aside to interact when each other?” she looked up, halfway expecting for her mother to knit her brows.

However, her mother simply smiled at her. “Exactly, Zelda. Although we might not always have a lot in common personally, when we act as the rulers of a country, that is something we have to forget about. Do you know why?”

That was a question Zelda knew the answer to. How could she not, when it was one of those little things her tutor loved to repeat, padding around the room as she repeated it at the end of every lesson?

Moving her head closer to her mother’s, Zelda nodded. “Because duty is more important than our own personal feelings?”

Her mother gave her an approving smile. “That is correct. Duty is more important than anything else. And you, Zelda, are going to become the best queen Hyrule has ever seen since you have learnt that already!”

Zelda giggled, feeling how the praise made the tight feelings in her chest, the thoughts of whether or not her father and the tension she had sensed that day in the hallway had been part of the reason why her mother had chosen not to go to Gerudo Town and whether or not it would have helped her to do so, disappear for a moment to allow her to focus as it became her turn to tell he mother about how her governess had complimented her for her articulation, Zelda making sure to properly pronounce every syllable of the word.

However, as she left her mother’s study a little hour later, turning around to catch one last glimpse of her mother through the little space between the door and the wall and seeing how the smile faltered the moment her mother thought she was not able to see her anymore, instead being replaced with a hint of fear in her eyes as she pushed herself off the couch, coughing loudly as she made her way back to her desk where she sent the letter from Urbosa and almost wistful look, Zelda could not help but wonder if she had really got the entire story.

**Power**

The sky was grey on the day of her mother’s funeral.

As Zelda stood in front of the grave, listening as the priest talked about how her mother had been a beloved queen, always ready to sacrifice herself for those around her, the perfect wife and companion to the king, and yet never mentioning how she had been the perfect mother as well, unable to continue looking at the grave where the gravestone was much taller than her mother had ever been, almost like it had been designed specifically to tower up in front of Zelda, completely devoid of the warmth her mother had always emitted, she could not help but wonder if the rain that made the soil turn dark and damp was perhaps a sign that the goddess was grieving as well, showing sympathy for their loss.

Zelda would not have been surprised if that was the case, not when her mother would sometimes grasp her hand and tell her that she could hear how the goddess was watching over her, keeping her safe. No, there was no doubt in her mind that the loss of her mother was not only one that had reduced the kingdom to a gloomy silence as they all grieved for how she had been taken from them too early, but one that made the goddess cry as well.

And yet, even as Zelda leant back to look up into the sky, a few drops of rain hitting her face, and almost thought she had caught a glimpse of a woman’s face looking down at them from above, tears streaming down her cheeks, she still did not cry. It was not a matter of not feeling how the grief made the entire world around her feel darker, almost like her mother had taken all colours with her into the grave, but rather a matter of the feelings swirling around her, creeping closer towards her, threatening to pull her down into the vortex of despair Zelda could see beneath her. Rather than exploding, the grief imploded, visible to no one but Zelda herself as she stood next to her father, making sure to maintain her perfect posture through the entirety of the ceremony, speaking with a clear voice, each word perfectly articulated as she said goodbye to the queen and placed the bouquet on top of the grave, grateful for how no one seemed to notice how she had gripped the stems of the Blue Nightshades so tightly that a few of them had become bent, broken, and though the rain did draw lines down her face, almost like it wanted to mimic the tears she could see escape those around her, Zelda’s eyes remained dry through it all.

She had not thought about it, had not stopped to ponder the question of whether or not it was better to grieve without tears, until they began to head back towards the castle, towards the feast that awaited them in the dining hall, Zelda’s stomach already turning to stone at the mere thought of sitting down to eat in her usual chair, but without being able to send a glance towards her mother to find some strength in how she knew she would smile at her, but that soon changed as her father pulled her aside moments before she would otherwise have stepped into the dining room.

“Zelda,” he said, and, for a fraction of a second, Zelda could see how his gaze grew distant, almost like he had been about to say something else entirely, but at the last moment, he shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder, “I just wanted to tell you that I am proud of you. I—I know that it cannot have been easy for you to stand out there, but you were able to assume the role of the perfect princess, not letting your grief show until you were alone again. You…” he glanced towards a spot on the wall behind her, “I just wanted to tell you that.” without giving her a chance to say anything, to explain how she had not done it for the people, to preserve the idea of the royal family being above feeling such a human emotion as grief, finding comfort in their ties to the goddess, her father turned around and continued into the dining hall like he had never paused to talk with her at all.

And as Zelda stood there, frozen, neither able to walk over and sit down at the table where she knew her presence was expected, nor finding the strength to run back to her room to allow her feelings to explode, affecting every little thing in the room around her, she could not help but notice how a tendril of something else grew from the grief that had formed a hard shell around her heart, reaching into her soul, twisting around and making pain shoot through her chest as Zelda could almost physically feel how something broke apart inside of her, how a voice that had whispered in her ear through the funeral, the way it had tried to comfort her not having been audible to Zelda until it had disappeared, fell silent.

In that moment, as she stood outside the dining hall, with the only sound she could hear being that of the voices from inside the room, Zelda had never felt more alone. She had thought that nothing would be worse than having to stand next to her father and watch how they buried her mother, part of her wanting to yell at them, to make them see that this was a mistake, that her mother was not dead, but her body not obeying her commands, remaining completely still no matter how hard she fought to move, but now, Zelda saw that this, the horrible silence that almost felt like it echoed around her, made everything so much worse.

It was not until Zelda felt the weight of someone’s hand on her shoulder that she realised how she had been standing out there, unable to move for far longer than what it had felt like. Turning around, she found herself looking up at someone who, while Zelda rationally knew that she was practically a stranger to her, in that moment seemed to look so much like her mother, the concerned look making her eyes flicker back and forth, that she found herself instinctively relaxing as she leant in towards her.

“Are you alright?” Urbosa whispered, and Zelda could see from the way her gaze landed on the door next to them that she, much like Zelda, did not want for the rest of the guests to be able to overhear their conversation.

It made it so easy to pretend to be alright, to nod and use the same lie she had given to everyone else who had asked the same question, to claim that she understood that there was nothing they could do to change the plans the goddess had for them. After all, she knew that all it would take to make Urbosa abandon her quest of making sure that she was indeed fine was a subtle reminder that none of them wanted for any of the guests to come out into the hallway and see how they had not even been able to go into the dining hall, unable to even imagine sitting down at the table without Zelda’s mother being present as well. For, in that moment, Zelda knew without a doubt that that was the reason for why Urbosa was out here, with her, in the hallway, rather than trying to make herself forget about her grief, trying to convince herself that the world had not lost its colours, the food had not lost its taste, the second her mother had died.

But for some reason, Zelda found that she could not bring herself to lie. No. As she allowed herself to acknowledge the feelings that filled her at the thought of what she would have said if she would have made an attempt, Zelda arrived at the realisation that, rather than finding the option of lying to be the more difficult of the two, it was the honest answer that felt like it was the daunting thing to do, the one that required for her to take a deep breath before she was able to step into the hug Urbosa had begun when she had first crouched down to talk with her.

“No,” Zelda said, feeling how the tears made her eyes sting as Urbosa somehow seemed to be able to perfectly replicate the consoling effect of her mother stroking her hair, “no, I am not. She is gone… she—I don’t know what to do now!”

Her tutor would have been disappointed with her if she had been there to hear how Zelda’s voice broke halfway through the last word, how the perfect articulation she had painstakingly made her learn to perfect disappeared the instant the tears were finally allowed to flow unchecked, but Urbosa only tightened the embrace, letting Zelda try to form a coherent sentence, attempt to explain how, without her mother, the castle felt silent and cold, and how, despite the way she feared to lose herself in the long, dark hallways, Zelda had begun to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like the stones of the walls around her had moved to sit on her chest, trying their best to force the air out of her lungs.

It was only when Zelda fell silent again, still sobbing into her shoulders, that Urbosa responded. Keeping her voice low, she almost sounded like her mother as she spoke. “Shh, I know, I know.”

Zelda did not ask what it was she knew, why Urbosa sounded just as broken as she felt, instead allowing herself to find comfort in the knowledge that, though the embrace was not able to perfectly replicate the way her mother could make any pain, any injury, feel better by kissing it away, it meant that there was someone who cared.

And perhaps, Zelda thought, as Urbosa continued, promising her not to leave her alone, not even when the funeral would be over, the promise that, while Gerudo Town had seemed so far away when Zelda had been a child, Urbosa would try her best to ensure that, once she had to return home, she would not let Zelda waste away in the castle for long, Urbosa found comfort in the knowledge as well.

**Courage**

Later, after everything was over and she had found herself standing in the field with Link, once more able to feel the breeze brushing past her, Zelda would perhaps be able to recognise the little glimpses that had been spread throughout the years, hidden away in those tiny moments where she had decided to sneak out against her father’s wishes, the one time when Link had taken her hand, the gesture hidden from view, wordlessly letting her know that he would stand beside her when she argued against her father’s decisions, and in the first time since Urbosa had assured her she was not alone where Zelda had finally found the courage to open up to someone and to tell them how she felt.

But right then, as they sprinted through the forests, over the bridge and through the mountain pass, the only thing Zelda could feel was how the fear made her heart beat faster, a quick, uneven rhythm against her ribs as she pushed herself to her limits, ignoring how her lungs burnt when she fought the pain that shot up through her legs to keep up with Link. If she had asked, he would have slowed down without hesitation, Zelda knew that, but somehow, although she could see how he did his best to appear calm, she could see directly past the façade, and into the panic that was visible right behind it. That was almost what scared her the most, how Link, the person who had not hesitated to go directly towards Ganon, only turning around when they had lost the last hope of being able to fight him, the one who had jumped between her and the sharp blades of the Yiga Clan, was unable to hide how he did not know what they should do, acting purely on instinct as he ducked, slashed, and stabbed to ensure that they would be able to continue, unable to tell her more than that he was trying to take her to a place where she would be safe the few times Zelda had found the air and words to ask him where they were going, sounding so frightened that, in the end, Zelda had stopped asking, settling for the cryptic answer of being told that they were heading towards a place that could offer them security, something that seemed to have disappeared the moment she had seen the evil rise from below the castle.

How she would come to regret not having asked him one last time, making one last attempt at convincing him that he should abandon her and save himself. Zelda knew that it would not have changed much, she should have realised that this was how it would always end the moment Link had been ready to throw himself between the Yiga Clan and a person who had never done anything but insult him, but that did not keep the world from almost feeling unreal, like it was all part of a grotesque nightmare she would find her way out of any second, as the Master Sword lost the otherworldly light that had enveloped it, the blade becoming blunt and dull as Link slammed the hilt of the sword into the face of a Bokoblin that had been mere centimetres away from grabbing Zelda’s hair.

“We have to go!” he yelled, the sound of his voice being drowned out by the flames that still roared in the village they had just passed through and the screams of those they had not been able to save. He twirled around, for a second possessing the same grace as a dancer as he somehow found the strength to use the blade to send a Moblin flying through the air, before completing the pirouette to look back at her. From the way he moved, his arms flying in every direction, Zelda could tell that he was screaming, yelling at her to run, but it all felt distant, the words not fully reaching her as he continued. “Zelda! Go!”

At last, it seemed that he understood how she was unable to move, for, casting one last glance at the destruction around them, he let sword fall to his side and grabbed her arm before he unceremoniously began dragging her through the swamp, each step making her feet sink deeper into the mud as the rain fought the flames from above.

Of course, they never made it all the way across; they never reached the fort Zelda knew Link prayed could be their hope of salvation. 

She had already seen a glimpse of what was to come, and yet, she still found herself caught off guard by the sight of how the Guardian scoured the area for anything or anyone it had yet to aim its weapon at.

Perhaps it was that shock, the thought of how she could not allow this to happen, not when Link was still right there besides her, that finally pulled Zelda back to reality, her consciousness being shoved back into the moment, sending her mind racing for a second as she pleaded with Link, telling him to leave her although she could tell from the way he still fought to stand up again, using his sword to keep himself from falling over completely, that she would never be able to convince him to do that. Zelda honestly did not know what did it. The only thing she could be certain of was that she could allow it to happen, she could not allow anyone or anything to harm Link, not now, not ever.

But no amount of prayers would ever have been enough to stop the Guardian, not as it looked down and readied itself to attack Link, the hero stubbornly refusing to listen to her and save himself, Zelda realised in that moment. She had spent her entire life praying to a goddess who had never listened, and it had still not been enough to save them from the situation.

She acted without thinking, only knowing that, no matter what would happen next, it was the only thing she could do to save Link.

As Zelda let out a pained scream, pushing against Link’s shoulders to allow herself to sprint in front of him, leaning back, trying to cover as much of him as she possibly could, she thought she could hear the whisper of someone in her ear.

Her mother was talking to her, Zelda realised, telling her to be wise, to be strong, to be brave, but it was not until she held up her hand, all thoughts of how she should have shielded herself forgotten as she tried to make sure that the blast would not reach Link, that the full extent of the voices reached her.

They were all there, the hundreds of princesses who had come before her. Zelda could hear how a few of their voices echoed, drowning out others, while other seemed much more defined, alone, all swirling around a single, central voice. As Zelda allowed herself to simply relax, knowing that she could not have more than another heartbeat left before the warmth would hit her face, followed by the pain of the weapons she herself had helped Ganon secure, it sounded almost sad as it apologised for having left her for so long.

That was all she had time to register before the light blinded her, and although Zelda had once promised herself that she would face her death with dignity, going into the unknown with the same smile that had decorated her mother’s lips towards the end, she found herself closing her eyes. She had no control of what would happen next, but, somehow, the thought of allowing herself to fall back, to be consumed by the uncertainty, did not scare her anymore. For she was not alone, and as Zelda waited for the moment where she would be able to once more open her eyes and see what her fate would be, she felt stronger than she had ever done before, surrounded by the voices of those who had been through the same as herself.

She was strong, and no matter what would happen now, Zelda knew that she would do everything it would take to save Hyrule and those around her.

**Author's Note:**

> That was the end - thank you for reading this! If you would like to see me try to keep myself from annoying everyone around me with my talk about Zelda as I wait for more information about the sequel, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://theseventhsage.tumblr.com/).


End file.
